


Am I scaring you tonight?

by AWolfSnake



Series: The terribly self indulgent Deck/Aïda fics no one asked for [1]
Category: Dos: After You
Genre: Blood and Violence, Body Image, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Knives, Murder, My first fic, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, What Even Is My Life At This Point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26776723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWolfSnake/pseuds/AWolfSnake
Summary: Aïda lives a life she hates. But maybe a certain tall, dark, and Dangerous someone can help her change that.
Relationships: Deck/OFC
Series: The terribly self indulgent Deck/Aïda fics no one asked for [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952152
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	Am I scaring you tonight?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DaveJean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaveJean/gifts).



> Title from Disturbia, by Rihanna.
> 
> Listen, I don't even know. The D:AY brainrot is real.

It all starts, as these things are wont to do, at a party. Not a fun one, mind you, with loud music and cheap alcohol and dark enough no one can see you and judge you, but a fundraising of some sort, she thinks, or perhaps a congress? She spends most of the boring parts on her phone, complaining on twitter about her very expensive and very painful heels or playing solitaire, only putting it away to clap politely when everyone else seems to. At least the food afterwards is good, and being served with proper protocol is enough of a novelty to keep her entertained and at least trying to make conversation with men three times her age.   
She’d love to say she has no idea why she agreed to come when her boss asked, but the truth is that a shopping trip, a salon visit and fancy dinner, all paid for by the company, sounded pretty appealing, even if she had to endure her boss’ company and his tendency to put his hand on her knee way more often than he should. She’s way past feeling dirty for this kind of thing, she’s had way worse and she’s at least getting new hair and clothes out of this. She just has to make sure to keep him distracted enough and then drunk enough that he won’t actually try anything. Sounds like a solid plan.   
It’s a couple of hours later, after countless meaningless platitudes, when the food stops coming and they are politely directed to the open bar by a waiter. Finally. She makes a beeline for it, uncaring of the eyes following her every movement. She knows what she looks like, five sizes too big and clearly out of her element despite her efforts. She doesn’t give a fuck. She needs some alcohol, stat. 

“A Vodka-lime, please”

It takes her a moment to process that no, her voice hasn’t magically acquired an echo, someone just ordered the same beverage as her, at exactly the same time. She finds it kinda creepy, for a second, but when she turns to see who it is… Well, she hardly has any brainpower left to consider the coincidence. The stranger isn’t much older than her, she doesn’t think, which is strange enough given where they are. His clothes are expensive, the colour perfectly complementing his tan skin as well as the constellation of freckles on his face. And his eyes. God, his eyes. There is something dangerous in them, the echo of spilled blood hidden by honey. Sharp as the blade she carries in her purse just in case. Sweet. So, so sweet, she thinks, and has to take a step back to stop herself from reaching out, wanting nothing more than to have her skin sliced open. 

“Sorry, you can go first.” She has to look away as she speaks, her voice shaky. She hopes her makeup is thick enough to hide her blush, but she knows she’s never been that lucky.   
“Thank you.” And oh, oh dear, if she thought she’d be obsessing over his eyes for a while, his voice is something else. Smooth as velvet and with a tired edge to it, it hits her like a punch to the guts, and she takes another step back.  
“U-uh, no problem.”  
“First time?”  
“What?” For some reason, he’s trying to make conversation and she can’t help the self-deprecating smile as she moves a hand to her belly as if to cover it “Ah- yes. Yes it is.”  
“Don’t worry, it gets easier.”  
“Ah… Thanks, I suppose.”  
“A shy one, aren’t you?” The smirk is clear in his voice, and while it is quite appealing, she’s had enough of men talking to her like that.  
“No shit, Sherlock. Or maybe I’m just not keen on strangers starting conversation.”   
“Hah. There it is. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just curious. I’m Deck, by the way. I can leave, if you’d rather.”  
“No, no, sorry.” The barman hands them their drinks then, and she takes hers with a nod, keeping an eye on it, just in case. “Sorry for snapping, I’m not good at talking to people unless there’s a social script of some sort I can memorize. I was not prepared, is all.”  
“Noted.” He moves to leave room for the next person in line and she follows him, even though she knows the conversation could be over if she wants it to be. She doesn’t. “So, how are you enjoying the party so far?” The question seems perfectly common, the kind of pleasantries she’s prepared herself for, but she can hear the playful tone underneath and it makes a genuine smile spread across her face.  
“Oh, just ‘delightful’, the food’s been excellent!” She makes use of her arsenal of sarcastic voices, and she can’t help but grin when it makes him laugh openly. “So, Deck… Is that short for anything?”

He tilts his head then, giving her a considering look. She can feel his eyes on every inch of her body, the blush on her cheeks reappearing as the silence stretches. It’s not uncomfortable, just charged somehow, and she is not surprised at all when he doesn’t reply to her question. She doesn’t know if it’s because there’s history there, or just because he doesn’t feel like it. Maybe it’s just to seem more mysterious than he already does. It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s not important. What matters is the glint in his eyes when they finally make eye contact.

“You never told me your name.”  
“No I did not. I’m Aïda, nice to meet you.”  
“Nice to meet you too. Are you here with someone?”  
“With my boss, unfortunately.”  
“Unfortunately?”  
“Well yeah. Great with business, he is, but also way too handsy.” She doesn’t say that she’s considered shoving her knife through her boss’s throat more than once, or cutting off his filthy hands and having him bleed out on the cold floor. She hopes her voice didn’t betray her thoughts. “Money is money, though, I suppose.”  
“Money is money, indeed.” The way he says it sends a shiver down her spine for some reason, and she takes a nervous sip of her drink.  
“How about you?”  
“Oh, I’m here for work.”

The conversation after that flows easily. She doesn’t ask about his work and he doesn’t volunteer any details, so they just talk about meaningless things, mostly their surprisingly similar taste in music. Eventually, Deck has to go back to whatever it is he does, and she’s alone once more. That’s alright, though, she’s happy to stay close to the wall and sip on her second drink of the night, this time a Piña Colada, pink paper umbrella and all. She watches the crowd, eager for a glimpse of elegantly cut hair and broad shoulders, and lets time pass until it’s polite to leave. It takes a few moments, but she finally gathers her strength and leaves her empty glass on the table to look for her boss, who by then is drunk enough to wrap an arm around her waist as soon as she’s within reach. God, she hates him. She takes a deep breath to calm herself down and instantly regrets it, the stench of rancid sweat and expensive cologne mixed with alcohol almost making her gag. She thought she could handle this. She can’t. She needs out, out, out, before she does something she’ll regret, so she makes her excuses hastily and books it, walking as fast as she can without running until she’s finally outside, the cold air filling her lungs. Yes. She finds a bench somewhat out of sight and sits down with a sigh of relief. It’s over. Now she just needs to call a cab to the hotel. As she pulls out her phone, she realizes she’s almost out of battery. Brilliant. Fucking lovely, that is. Angry tears start filling her eyes, which makes her even angrier as she realizes they’ll ruin her very expensive makeup. Well, who cares anymore. After a moment, she pulls her pocket knife out of her purse, a small elegant thing that she bought in Albacete a long time ago and that she's kept wickedly sharp, just in case. She plays with it out of habit, skillfully twirling it around, and if she slips sometimes… Well, the sharp sting only serves to calm her down faster. She's never hurt herself, not like that at least, but she's always liked pain, how it makes her brain stop and focus on a single point of sensation and heat. She’s staring blankly ahead, considering her options, when Deck’s voice startles her.

“Beautiful.”  
“Ah- fuck! Hah.” She holds the knife up, smiling “It’s just an old thing, I’ve had it forever.”  
“Ah. The knife too, I suppose.”  
“Oh, shut up.” That makes him chuckle, and he sits beside her.  
“Leaving already?”  
“Yeah. Sorry. Couldn’t find you and I needed to get out.”  
“Hm. Can I show you something?”  
“...Sure?”

Deck nods and pulls a knife from his pocket. It says something about her that being scared doesn’t even cross her mind, she just leans in to take a closer look. The blade is sleek and shiny, fitting perfectly in Deck’s hand. She reaches out, and very slowly presses a fingertip to the edge, letting out a pleased sigh when it is sharp enough to draw the tiniest bit of blood. It’s not a normal reaction, she knows, but when she looks up at Deck he doesn’t seem weirded out at all. Quite the opposite, actually. There’s a small smile on his lips, as if she’s met every single one of his expectations. It makes her feel warm and shaky, and if she was standing she would fall to her knees right there. Instead, she pulls away and smiles shyly as Deck puts the knife back in his pocket. She opens her mouth to say something, but he shakes his head, pressing a finger to her lips to quiet her.

“See that building over there?” He points at a fancy hotel a few blocks down, and she nods “Good. That’s where I’m staying. Meet me there in 20 minutes, yeah?” He pulls out a keycard with the room number on it and hands it to her. “There’s more I want to show you.”

With that, he kisses her cheek and stands up, waving at her as he walks away, leaving her sitting there clutching the small card, stunned. It takes her a few moments to react, but when she does it’s with incredulous laughter and a giddy smile. There’s no way he… But he did, didn’t he? Even if it’s not to get intimate, he did invite her to his hotel room, so it must mean he at least wants to spend some more time with her. But then again, if it was just to hang out, he could have given her his number, right? So that definitely means… Well. What it means. Her thoughts immediately go to the several layers of shapewear she’s got under her dress, and the familiar spike of anxiety at the prospect of undressing in front of someone hits her again. She should just go home. It doesn’t matter how hot Deck is, or how much she wants to know what he has to show her, it’s not worth… No. No, she’s not doing this again. She’s lost too many years of her life thinking like this. If Deck doesn’t like what he sees once she strips, that’s his loss not hers. Right. Well, at least now her little breakdown is over, and when she checks her phone, she’s glad to see it’s been almost ten minutes. She doesn’t like waiting much, so there’s that. She spends the remaining time nervously fidgeting and watching people come and go from the event hall. Finally, it's been 21 minutes and she can follow Deck to his hotel, doing her best to avoid looking nervous in case someone realizes she shouldn't be there. As it turns out, no one really cares. So she makes her way to the elevator, and then goes up, up, up all the way. To the top floor, where the fanciest suites are. Wow. It's something she could never dream of getting, not even with company money, and now she's starting to get a bit worried. Who 'is' Deck? Is she about to get murdered or something? She doesn’t have much more time to second-guess herself, because just then the elevator doors open and she finds herself in a short corridor leading to the suite door. Taking a deep breath, she makes her way over there and slides the keycard in. No going back now. 

The main area is spacious, with a bar off to one side and two big sofas at the back, big windows overlooking the city. The actual bedroom and bathroom, she assumes, are down a hallway she can see to her left. What really catches her attention, however, is Deck. Unsurprisingly. He’s standing in the middle of the room, having cleared some space and moved away some rugs and furniture only to extend a plastic tarp on the floor. His back is to the door, so she is treated with an excellent view of his backside. He’s removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, and she has to take a moment to make sure her knees won’t fail her as she takes a step forward. An embarrassing amount of time later, she realizes they’re not the only ones in the room. There’s a man in front of Deck, sitting… No, not just sitting. Tied to a chair. It’s one of the men who laughed at her boss’ jokes and inappropriate comments, and she lets out a surprised laugh when she recognizes him. 

“Hah. Well this is unexpected.” She moves closer and Deck turns at the sound of her voice.  
“Welcome. I was wondering if you were actually going to show up.”  
“Were you? Seems to me you’ve been busy”  
“Hm. I guess. I was curious, though.”  
“I see. What’s this, then?”  
“Work.”  
“... Right.”

When she comes to stand next to Deck, the man looks pleadingly at her, the message clear enough even as his begging is muffled by the gag covering his mouth. She considers her options here. She could let the man go and risk Deck’s blade being turned against her, but for what? The man probably wouldn’t make it out alive either, clearly, and even if he did, what good would it do to her? To have his gratitude? A higher-paying job where she’ll hate every second of her existence? Definitely not worth losing Deck’s trust over. So, not that. Another option would be to leave. Deck would let her, she thinks, and if she’s lucky he’d come to get rid of her later, which would mean seeing him again. But… But. The air is once again thick with tension, an electrical almost tangible thing that draws her closer to the predator standing beside her. She wants, she wants so much she’s choking on it. She wants to see blood, to see one of the men that made her feel so small cry as he realizes it’s her who has the power. And as she reaches that conclusion she realizes that she’s finally reached her breaking point. That this is it. And she laughs. She laughs so hard that the tears she didn’t spill earlier come back, her eyeliner and mascara creating black streaks across her cheeks, shadow tears of mourning for a world that never loved her, that gave her little cages she could never fit in, that sliced off piece after piece of her until she did, until all that remained of her were bare bones and an ill-fitting skin. Eventually, she calms down and looks at Deck, who seems slightly worried but mostly amused.

“Well, then.”  
“Are you alright?”  
“Oh, never better. This is what you do, then.”  
“Yes. Amongst other things.”  
“Fun.” She starts walking around the chair, a smirk on her face. “Will you show me, then?”  
“I can tell you how, if you wanted to do it yourself. You look good with a blade in your hand.”  
“I- Uh.” That makes her blush, again. She might have broken, but compliments are still new to her. “I would like that.”

She takes her knife out of her purse, and Deck gestures for her to come stand in front of him. Taking the blade from her, he runs it very lightly along her body, explaining where the main arteries are and which cuts will take the longest to be deadly. Then, he leans in to kiss her before turning her around.

“Your turn.”  
“Stay with me?” She takes the knife back and rests it on the man’s forehead, pressing enough to draw a drop of blood.  
“Of course. Whenever you’re ready.”

The first cut is hesitant, unsure, but as the blood starts spilling and Deck starts whispering praises in her ear, she becomes bolder. The second cut is much more precise, and a grin starts spreading across her face. The third cut is catharsis, the man's muffled screams the perfect soundtrack to this life-changing moment. Deck's hands move to her waist as he starts biting and kissing her neck, sending spikes of heat through her body. She takes her time with the rest. It's her first kill, after all, and probably the last. She knows Deck won't stick around, and she wouldn't know how to go about it without him, so she wants to make the most out of the experience, to treasure it and remember it forever. Eventually the man stops screaming, and then he stops moving, and then he stops breathing. She puts the blade aside carefully, her most treasured possession now, and turns around to give Deck a proper kiss, moaning against his lips when he wraps his arms tighter around her, pulling her closer.

They move to the bedroom after that, leaving behind a trail of clothes, and in the morning they clean up everything before going their separate ways. She doubts she’ll see Deck again, but she goes back to her life as a changed woman, having had a taste of power and finally knowing her own worth. Deck has given her a gift, and she intends to treasure it as long as she lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was that. I have sEqUeLs in mind, but it might take me a while. 
> 
> If you liked it, you can follow me on twitter @Anyan_Wolf
> 
> Cheers.


End file.
